I watch Steffie, walking around my house, unpainted and bitten fingernails spread out across a mug with the string of a herbal tea bag dangling over its side.
I suspect she was close enough to home to see the guy leaving my house, but she hasn’t mentioned it or asked who he was.
Why, Stef?
‘Are you wearing Romilly’s slippers?’ I ask, but it’s not a question because I know what my wife’s slippers look like.
And that’s them on feet sticking out the back of them, two, three sizes too big.
She looks down, like she’s forgotten she had them on.
‘Yes. Sorry. Is that not okay?’
I shrug.
Where are the boundaries now anyway?
The familiar smell of peppermint and liquorice permeates the air. Romilly’s favourite. Of course that’s what she chose.
When two people are as close as Steffie and Romilly, and have been that way for so long, it’s inevitable that there will be many similarities. But sometimes it’s like I’m still living with her, and it’s too much, at moments, too much.
She bites a carrot, whole.
Tilts her head back to stretch.
Stop being Romilly.
Stop it.
Stop.
Irrational, I know.
It’s not her fault. Not really.
Today is a good day. Ten minutes ago I was euphoric.
But now I’ve crashed.
I need to get outside.
In everyone’s efforts to help, they’ve stripped my world down to existing almost completely within these walls. I have no purpose to leave. Shopping – with its wrong brands, its random items – is piled high in my fridge again before it’s had time to dwindle; the dog is walked regularly.
Are they trying to keep me inside, imprison me?
Well if they are, they won’t succeed today.
It’s a hot day. I need the air. I need the space. I need to make a call, alone, urgently.
‘I’m taking Fleur out,’ I tell Steffie. ‘We might be a while. If you leave, can you lock up and put the key under the black bin?’
‘I’ll take her,’ she says, and I shake my head, firm.
‘No,’ I say. ‘Like I say, you’ve done so much. I appreciate it. But it’s my turn: I will take my daughter for a walk.’
‘But Loll says …’
I stop. Interesting.
‘Loll says what?’
Steffie shrugs. ‘Just that we should try to take the pressure off you. Be around.’
When I go to set the pram up I realise I don’t even know how to do it and I know then that it’s true, they have clipped my wings; made it impossible for me to function. I wasn’t being paranoid.
‘Can I help?’ asks Steffie, but I snap at her that I’m fine, I can do it. Then I wrestle with it, swearing, kicking it into submission.
Five minutes later though, Fleur is in her pram, tiny feet covered by a blanket, and I am about to open the front door when my phone rings.
‘Hey, man,’ I answer. ‘How’s it going?’
From the hall I see Steffie’s shoulders lift on the sofa where her head is buried in her phone, her jaw stiffen. What’s that about?
In the background of my call to Adam, I can hear crickets, whisking me away to walking home with Romilly from a Spanish restaurant, the sangria having loosened our limbs and tongues on a trip to Barcelona soon after we met, our shoulders tinged with the day’s sun. Sunglasses on our heads from when we’d still needed them at the start of the evening. Clothes sticking to our bodies. We would fall asleep to the sound of those crickets; windows wide open even though no breeze could cool our bare skin; the nights were too still.
‘Mate,’ Adam says back. ‘Can you hear me?’
Was I dreaming then? Barcelona felt real. Was it just an intense daydream? Fuck, I am losing it. The sleep deprivation of a newborn, man. That and your wife leaving you in the midst of it.
‘I’m not sure what just happened. Sorry, Ad,’ I say. ‘Go on.’
I feel dazed. Fleur makes a noise like she is irritated by the delay to our walk and I slip a dummy into her mouth.
‘Okay so I feel like I’m making progress,’ he says. ‘I went to the lake, spoke to some people about accommodation close by. Lot of fancy places by the sound of it but a couple of people brought up the same campsite that’s a lot cheaper than the rest. Bit out of town and a faff to get to but I’m going to head there next and hope it’s where she’s staying.’
I nod. ‘Mmm hmmm.’
Disinterested in the detail. I’m not booking a holiday: I just want news.
He carries on.
‘Just hoping the campsite has availability tonight. Not to mention Wi-Fi and somewhere I can work … Like I say, it’s quite pricey round here and it’s getting into holiday season …’ he says.
There’s a pause that’s loaded some weight onto the conversation. Am I supposed to offer to pay? I still don’t know whether I’m getting paid myself after next week. And how much this search and whatever comes next is going to cost. There’s no way I can pay for Adam’s trip.
I stay silent. Ride it out.
‘But it’ll be fine,’ he says, sounding like it won’t be.
I glance up. Steffie is watching me talk. I step back. Look down. She is still wearing Romilly’s slippers.
‘Okay, man, right I’m going to go now – I’m just taking Fleur out for some air.’
‘Can’t Steffie take her?’ he asks.
I bristle. Wipe sweat from my forehead.
‘I can do some things for myself. She is my daughter.’
Marc Beach, always seen as a big kid. Even now.
Adam is quiet. ‘I was only trying to take something off your hands, mate.’
Yeah. But you’ve all taken so much off my hands that my hands are desperate for something to do, only they can’t push a pram or hold a pint in the pub because I am supposed to be too traumatised to go out and so I sit here, in this house, hands empty, no use to anybody, just going over and over and fucking over how the hell this could have happened.
I sigh.
‘I know, man. But it’s fine. I need some air. Keep me posted when you get there.’
He clears his throat then and I know what’s coming next makes him feel awkward; more awkward even than asking for money.
‘Listen, mate, don’t mention any of this to Steffie, okay? Let’s wait until we get firm answers.’
I look at Steffie. Watching the conversation unfold even if she can’t hear Adam’s side of it; even if my contribution has been minimal.
I scrunch my forehead. Nod. ‘Sure. Not a problem, man.’
My eyes rest on Steffie’s. I don’t think she could hear anyway.
Why would Adam not want her to know?
Is there a dynamic I don’t understand here?
‘Any updates?’ asks Steffie as soon as I hang up. She is fanning her face with a food magazine.
‘Nothing yet,’ I say. ‘Hopefully soon. I’ll be about an hour with Fleur. You may as well head home really, Stef – we’ll be fine for the rest of the day. I’m planning on doing some more reading about maternal mental health as soon as Fleur sleeps. I want to know what we’re dealing with, so we can get it sorted as soon as possible when we do get Romilly home.’
She goes to speak but stops herself.
There is a barely visible nod.
‘I’ll get my stuff and go now,’ she says, and steps carefully out of Romilly’s slippers. Puts Romilly’s favourite mug down next to the sink. Hands back Romilly’s life.
She stops just before she leaves.
‘You know there are more storms coming? The rain has just started, I mean, for your walk …’
I don’t answer.
In her hand is a rain cover for the pram. She hands it to me wordlessly.
As soon as I step outside, the rain quickens and begins to pummel me. I fit the rain cover while muttering to myself on the drive. A white van emblazoned with the logo of an oven cleaning company drives past too fast and soaks me.
‘Fuck you!’ I shout after them. ‘FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU FUCK YOU FUCK YOU.’
I walk.
Faster.
Lightning marks the sky.
There was an odd mood as we walked out of the door and Steffie headed one way, Fleur and I the other, I think, as I put one foot in front of the other through the rain, a large drip falling off the end of my nose. Fleur screams, furious, and then is so still that I have to take the rain cover off to check she is breathing. She starts to scream again.
Faster.
Break into a run.
There was no touch, I think, breath coming faster now as I hear thunder crack loudly despite the puffa jacket hood that is pulled up around my face and over my ears.
There was no eye contact.
A sense, suddenly, of the team disbanding. An end-of-term vibe.
And maybe that’s a good thing.
I keep walking, keep running, until finally the rain relents.
Everything needs to end, Steffie.